


Behind the glass

by embeer2004



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, Human Experimentation, Rescue, Test subject, Whump, focus on the rescue in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Zoltan was glad that apparently good help was hard to find, or he’d be a test subject right now. The poor sot on the other side of the glass though hadn’t been so lucky, and whoever was inside that greenish-glowing tube certainly didn’t deserve whatever was happening to them.





	Behind the glass

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set early in 1272, just before the events in W3.

“Darned humans and their rotten behaviour,” Zoltan grouched, rapping his knuckles on the thick glass of a strange tube. Someone was inside it, of that he was sure; a human, or an elf perhaps by the figure’s size, and the person was alive. He couldn’t make out who or what it was exactly, as the glass of the tube was too thick and the lighting around it caused some kind of greenish reflection, making it difficult to see more than a murky silhouette.  
  
The tube was capped with a copper lid, from which a smaller tube stuck out, leading to a copper vat placed above a burning fire. A wooden table stood right next to it, laden with herbs, pulverised crystals, beakers, flasks, spoons and, oddly enough, a wheel of rank cheese. Zoltan’s nose twitched at the strong smell coming off of it and he winced, looking around further. He spotted two other tubes in the back, both empty. One of them was clearly damaged, with large cracks in the glass creating weaving patterns resembling a spider in its death throes.  
  
He knew what kind of place he was at: a scientist’s lab. And seeing as he’d been dragged over here, abducted by several (now dead) humans, Zoltan had a good sense that the scientist was along the ilk of the Professor and Azar Javed, and whoever was inside that tube certainly didn’t deserve whatever was happening to them.  
  
_Experimentation…_  
  
A glimmer out of the corner of his eye drew his attention back to the occupied tube and he tried to figure out the best way to go about this. It seemed like whatever was in the copper vat, its fumes were pushed into the large tube, no doubt near-suffocating its prisoner. There were no signs of a hatch or another way to open the tube, so that meant that the unfortunate being had been lowered in through the top? And that was far too high for him to reach.  
  
Zoltan spat on the floor, disgusted, and hurriedly basked the fire.  
  
Grumbling under his breath, he returned to one of the humans and retrieved the axe that he’d left in one of their backs. He’d been lucky that apparently good help was hard to find, or he’d be a test subject now as well. Idiots.  
  
He returned to stand right in front of the tube and with a wide swing he whacked the glass right in the middle.  
  
For a moment he’d feared that the glass would hold, but a small crack now marked the glass. Encouraged by that sign, Zoltan lifted his axe and whacked the glass again, this time harder. He jumped to the side, startled, as green vapour escaped from the cracked tube, and he held his breath, not wishing to breathe anything that came out of that _torture device_. Instead he smashed his axe against the remaining glass a few more times until it was no longer a hinder and the being inside was completely revealed.  
  
Confused, he stared at the naked form strung up inside, held aloft by some sort of leather harness that was buckled in the back. The man’s feet were dangling just above the tube’s floor and his wrists were held captured in front of him by a metal that Zoltan’s sharp eyes recognised to be dimeritium.  
  
He knew this man. The scars marring nearly the entire right side of his face, the odd resemblance to Geralt, though this man had dark hair… “_Eskel_?”  
  
The witcher was unconscious though, and all over his body Zoltan could see the dark veins that he had learnt meant toxicity of some kind, and his body was riddled with dark bruises.  
  
“Eskel?” Hesitantly he reached out to touch the witcher’s knee, wincing at the heat radiating off of the flesh.  
  
“Hnnng?” A weak groan sounded from above and Zoltan looked up, seeing Eskel’s eyelids flutter.  
  
“That’s it, lad. You wake up now, it’s safe,” he reassured. "The humans are dead and I'm gettin’ you out of here." Wherever here was. They couldn’t be far from Novigrad though, so the Rosemary and Thyme, that’s where he would take him.  
  
Eskel inhaled deeply and then started coughing violently, barking wet gurgles as his body shuddered, forcing him to curl a bit from their wrecking intensity.  
  
Zoltan winced. It sounded like the witcher had fluid in his lungs, and going by those bruises Eskel’s ribs were likely cracked or broken. He reached up higher, to Eskel’s hip, the highest he could reach, and soothingly stroked over the naked flesh. “Calm, lad. Shallow breaths, can you do that?”  
  
Eskel clearly tried to take shallower breaths, but with a jerking motion his body seized and his barking coughs continued. Finally, after a minute or so, he grew quiet and his body grew limp as he slumped in his bindings.  
  
He had to get the man down, _now_.  
  
Zoltan stepped away and looked around the room, searching for anything he could use to climb up on, yet not seeing anything useful. The table was certainly high enough, but it was bolted to the floor. Walking over to the back, where the other two tubes were, he quickly searched that side of the room, and he felt lucky upon seeing the chair pushed up against a writing desk that was strewn with books and even sported a bottle of ink with a quill stuck in it.  
  
He hurried towards it, already pulling the chair backwards, when his eyes caught a piece of paper lying in the centre of the desk. There was a crude image depicting what was clearly one of those tubes, but the thing that drew his attention the most was the sketch of the man inside of it, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Eskel. His hand was drawn raised and his fingers were splayed, and whoever had drawn this picture had tried to draw a shockwave, with little shivery lines coming up from the raised hand and a pointed arrow with the word ‘boom’ and another arrow pointing towards the spidery cracks marked with ‘crack’ for emphasis.  
  
Scowling, he took up the paper and scanned over the text.  
  
  
_The test subject was put into the experimental chamber while still unconscious. I waited until he awoke and then informed him of what was going to happen. He seemed to have difficulty understanding the important role he was going to have, as he started hitting the glass, shouting expletives, the moment the fumes were released._  
  
_ The test subject managed to damage the experimental chamber by performing some kind of magic, resulting in a powerful blast that cracked the glass, causing the fumes to spill through them. I had to halt the experiment and will need to start it again under better circumstances in order to avoid untrustworthy and irreproducible results._  
  
_ The test subject was damaged as well and fell unconscious, no doubt from the blast’s shockwave turning back on him within the confines of the chamber. For now, I have had him removed from it and have nullified his magic by putting dimeritium cuffs around his wrists._  
  
_ I need the test subject to be aware and awake if he is to divine anything for me, thus I am forced to wait. I will try again in a few days. Luckily I still have two other chambers. I have hopes that this experiment will be a success, as witchers are said to be extraordinarily receptive to potions and mutagens. The aged sample from Genno Myvort should be well tolerated._  
  
_ I cannot help but think that perhaps I should acquire a new test subject. So far humans and elves have failed and even if this experiment is a success, witchers are a dying breed._  
  
_ Perhaps a dwarf?_  
  
  
Scoffing under his breath, Zoltan forced his nose to un-scrunch and stuffed the paper in his pocket. First things first. He needed to make sure that Eskel was safe, then later he would inform Geralt. Perhaps he and Lambert could get to the bottom of this whole mess.  
  
Grabbing the chair, Zoltan started dragging it behind him. He couldn’t spot anything else of interest here, not even the witcher’s gear. Hmm, one of those humans had looked to be of similar size. He’d have to pay extra attention to figure out where this place was, perhaps Geralt could pick up some kind of trail and find Eskel’s gear?  
  
It didn’t take him long to return to Eskel’s side and then he positioned the chair close enough to the tube so that he could reach the buckles at his back.  
  
“All right, Eskel, found somethin’ that’ll help,” he murmured quietly, not sure whether Eskel could hear him.  
  
He climbed up the chair and frowned, seeing that the buckles of Eskel’s harness were still beyond his reach. Examining the chair’s back, Zoltan decided that the wood would be able to carry his weight. He got off the chair, positioned it just a bit differently, slanted, and got up again, finding a precarious balance standing on the chair’s back.  
  
Holding his breath, he carefully reached up and released the various buckles trapping Eskel, having to be quick with the final two, when the lad was starting to slip down. Zoltan was just in time to grab the witcher and hold on to him as they both fell, and he turned his body slightly so Eskel fell on top of him, softening his landing.  
  
Sighing, Zoltan let his arms trail down the unconscious figure’s arms, only now feeling the slight trembles running through the naked form and he could even feel the witcher’s heart thudding against his own chest at an irregular pace.  
  
“Eskel? Help me out here…” Eskel was pretty heavy, but Zoltan was a dwarf, strong and sturdy, so he easily managed to twist out from under him. “You stay right there, lad. Gonna get you some clothes. Can’t run about in naught but your birthday suit and frankly, with those black veins you’re gonna scare the humans. You know how overly-sensitive they are. Oh, it’s a wraith! A necrophage. Ptooey I tell you!”  
  
Talking to him seemed to be the right thing to do. Back when Geralt had fought in the eternal battle he’d been out for three days, utterly worn-out and exhausted. Dandelion had insisted on being there for him, speaking to him as he’d lain there unconscious, insisting their friend could hear them. At first Zoltan hadn’t been convinced, but Dandelion had pointed out that Geralt’s brow turned smoother when he was talking, his breathing turned calmer, and after watching the two for a while, observing in silence when Dandelion had to leave for a moment and seeing the tenseness creep back into the unconscious body Zoltan had finally become convinced.  
  
Wriggling out from under Eskel, Zoltan carefully rolled the witcher onto his back, frowning when he saw the cuffs still clasped around his wrists. “Just a moment… gonna get those off of you in a jiffy. First need to make sure your cheeks won’t freeze stuck to the floor. Would be a pity…”  
  
He went over to one of the dead humans, the tallest one, and started pulling on the dead man’s boots, before pulling off the man’s trousers and his tunic and returning with them to Eskel’s side.  
  
Another thing he’d learnt early on was to never, _ever_, try and dress an unconscious witcher. You never knew when they’d wake up, but if they did while being manhandled unawares they lashed out and he and Dandelion had been lucky that Geralt’s reaction had been to cast an aard (that had hurt) and then a quen instead of signing an igni at them (that would have hurt even worse and caused more damage).  
  
“Eskel? Hey, Eskel!” He called softly, touching his fingers to Eskel’s hot cheek. “Show me those pretty eyes of yours…”  
  
Eskel’s breath shuddered and he turned his head, following Zoltan’s fingers. “Hnnf.”  
  
“That’s it. If you can’t look that’s fine, I just want to know if you’re awake. Can you hum twice if you are? Or wiggle your fingers?”  
  
There was a small movement as Eskel wiggled his fingers and Zoltan more saw than heard the sigh escaping his lips before a shiver passed through his body and goosebumps appeared on the naked flesh.  
  
“Good. Now let’s get some clothes on you and then we can leave this accursed place…”  
  
~*~  
  
Someone was speaking to him. Eskel had no idea who it was, but the voice sounded slightly familiar. A male voice, low, thrumming, and speaking in an oddly gentle tone. Truly gentle, not fake like the other voice.  
  
He felt too tired to open his eyes. Everything hurt and it was so cold. There was a gurgling, suffocating sensation in his chest that made it hard to breathe and he reached up with one hand. He frowned when it wouldn’t move up far and there was a pinching on both his wrists. Lifting both hands, he was only somewhat satisfied he could press them over his chest, rubbing over his sternum. It didn’t help though, breathing hurt and he was afraid to inhale too deeply. His ribs were killing him, feeling like glass shards pressing in, and he just _knew _that his lungs were waiting for an unwatched moment to seize up on him.  
  
Rolling over on his left side, he pressed his hands against his belly, or at least he tried. Before he could roll too far a cool hand on his shoulder stopped him and instantly his mind flashed to before.  
  
_Trapped. He had to get out!_  
  
Holding out his hand and twisting his fingers, Eskel cast igni, forcing open his eyes when he didn’t feel the heat of flames rising from his palms, nor hear the screams that usually accompanied that move.  
  
“Eskel, lad!” The voice urged, though it didn’t speak too loud as most humans tended to do. “It’s me, Zoltan. Remember?”  
  
Drawn towards the source of the voice, Eskel finally saw who was speaking to him and he frowned, trying to remember the figure before him. “Dw… dwar-uf?” He breathed, barely louder than a whisper. What was a dwarf doing here? And where was here? The last thing he remembered…  
  
They were going to ‘acquire a new test subject’. A dwarf.  
  
He could hear footsteps. And a low, fake pleasant voice speaking. “Let’s try that again, shall we? This time without the magic.”  
  
Panicking, looking up, he could see a figure, the dwarf, and, ignoring his own injuries Eskel reached for him and pulled him to his chest before rolling over, covering the smaller body with his own, hiding him from the other’s sight. “I’ll cre-ate a dis- dis-traction,” Eskel whispered into the dwarf’s ear. “You _run_, you h-hear me? Run and d-don’t look back!”  
  
“Eskel!” The dwarf barked, his hands coming up quickly and pulling him lower, towards him. “You’re safe, wolf. We both are…” One of the dwarf’s hands moved over to his back and started stroking up and down and it felt odd, _off_ for some reason and it took Eskel a moment too long before he realised it was because he was _naked_.  
  
Releasing a shuddering breath, Eskel felt all the strength leave him and his arms wobbled and he would have fallen and crushed the dwarf if he hadn’t reached up to him and guided him until he was laying down on his back. “They… they’ll retu-” his voice cut off abruptly when his lungs seized, causing his eyes to water as he tried not to cough. Been there, done that; hurt like hell.  
  
A cool hand settled on his shoulder, and the dwarf lowered himself onto his knees. When Eskel could see clearly again he saw the wry look on the dwarf’s face.  
  
“You’re safe,” the dwarf repeated. “Back with me, are you?”  
  
Eskel gave a jerky nod, keeping an ear out, listening, but there was no one else here besides them. It had seemed so _real_.  
  
The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly. “Good. Now, the name’s Zoltan Chivay. We’ve met afore. I’m a friend of Geralt and Dandelion, remember?”  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Eskel tried to get a good look at the dwarf and he blinked as he realised that he _did _know this dwarf. “Zol-tan?” He carefully spoke. “Wha-?” His hands jerked and he felt a cold sweat break out over his brow. Looking down he saw the signs of toxicity on his flesh before he noticed the glimmering metal clasped around his wrists, and the fact that his igni had failed meant only one thing: dimeritium.  
  
Zoltan’s hands settled over his wrists, stilling the nervous fluttering he’d started. “Was gonna get them off after gettin’ some pants on you, but now that you’re awake you get to decide. What’s first? Pants on, or cuffs off?”  
  
Forcing himself to breathe in slowly, Eskel jerked his wrists. He didn’t care all too much about being naked. He felt more naked without his magic, without his signs, than he did without clothes. “Cuffs,” he gritted out, feeling like someone had poured acid down his throat.  
  
The dwarf nodded and started fiddling around with something on his belt before settling himself a bit closer to him and pointing towards his wrists. “All right. Give me your wrists?”  
  
Holding out his arms, Eskel bit his lip as he fought the urge to flee or lash out. He watched closely as Zoltan deftly managed to open up the locks before placing the cuffs on the ground and he breathed in relief at feeling the familiar tingling warmth settle back inside of him.  
  
It was still too cold though and he rubbed his arms harshly before the dwarf nudged his knee and pointed towards a pile of clothes lying on the ground. The tunic smelled a bit like blood actually and, honing in on the scent he spotted two dead persons lying face-down on the floor, one sans clothes. _Ah._  
  
Reaching over, he grabbed the trousers and started bending over so he could slip them over his feet, but the moment he did he hissed, wincing as his ribs protested the move. Closing his eyes, his mind flashed back to his earlier panic, the first time they stuck him in a tube, and he’d been desperate to break free, had _known _that the shockwave would resonate in such a small space and wreck havoc. At least he hadn’t been suicidal and cast an igni, he’d no doubts about those fumes lighting up like fireworks and burning him to a cinder if he had.  
  
A shiver passed through his body and he felt a slight tugging over his feet.  
  
Opening his eyes, he spotted Zoltan guiding the trouser legs over his feet and, seeing his eyes open, the dwarf tapped his ankle. Obediently, he first lifted one foot, then the other. The dwarf patiently helped him dress, offering himself as a crutch to lean on while he pulled the trousers all the way up and stepped into some black leather boots, and worrying like a mother hen when it was time to put on the tunic. Zoltan treated him like he was made of a fragile kind of crystal, taking the utmost care to help his arms through the tunic’s sleeves and barely stopping himself from tucking the light fabric in.  
  
Smiling, Eskel cocked his head. Geralt had mentioned something along these lines. What was it again? Dandelion the bard held a philosopher’s wisdom inside of him, and Zoltan the dwarf was a secret mother hen?  
  
Blushing, Eskel looked away, and his gaze was drawn towards the tube, the ‘experimental chamber’ that now lay in shambles. His hands clenched into fists and he breathed in, unclenching them on the exhale.  
  
Slowly, he walked towards the broken tube, gritting his teeth and suppressing the pain lancing through his body. There had been three of these when he’d been brought in.  
  
Looking towards the back, he easily spotted the other two tubes, the one he’d broken before and…  
  
“Stay here, Zol-tan,” he said quietly, shuffling towards the back.  
  
Seeing where he was headed, the dwarf crossed his arms over his chest and straightened up as much as he could, nodding his head. “You take care of that, wolf.”  
  
Calling up on the magic inside him, Eskel held out one hand and bent his middle finger inward and with a _push_ he blasted a forceful aard at both of the tubes. He felt no satisfaction as seeing both torture devices falling completely apart. Instead, he felt tired, hollowed out…  
  
“Come on, lad.” Zoltan’s voice came up from behind him only a moment before the dwarf stepped in front of him, a knowing look on his face. For some reason there was a burning torch in his hand, but Eskel quickly learnt why when the dwarf walked over to a small desk and held the flame to the books lying on top. Both of them watched for a bit as the books burnt and the desk scorched before the flames flickered out.  
  
Zoltan gazed up at him and pointed towards the door. “Let’s go home. We’ll patch you up and you can stay as long as you like. And if you want to investigate this whole sordid affair perhaps you’d like some company? Me ‘n Geralt? Lambert?”  
  
Eskel pondered that over for a few seconds. He _did _want to hunt down whoever was behind this, but right now he felt as weak as a kitten and he seriously needed to recover. His ribs were on fire and his head throbbed and he really, _really_, wanted to just sleep for at least a week right now.  
  
Nodding, he slowly started walking, hugging one arm around his aching ribs. He wanted his gear, and just where had Scorpion run off to? He’d find him though, the horse had been trained well and would still be near the place he’d been captured. He’d been near the Novigrad gate, hadn’t he? Yes, yes he had…  
  
Once outside and breathing in the fresh night air, Eskel looked behind him, memorising the manor and its location for a future visit.  
  
“Hmm… we’re farther away than I thought,” Zoltan murmured thoughtfully. “I recognise this area. That’s the way leading towards Oxenfurt.” He pointed towards his left, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. “Wished we’d been a bit closer to Novigrad, we’ve still got a long ways to go.”  
  
Eskel perked up. “I was there, in Ox-en-furt. Before. M-my horse, Scor-p-pion, I’m sure w-we’ll find him there.”  
  
The dwarf nodded and looked him up and down, narrowing his eyes. “You good to walk for a bit?”  
  
He nearly shrugged before remembering why that was a bad idea. “No oth-er choice, right? Not unless we spot… a car-a-van of some sort.”  
  
Zoltan gave him a wry smile in return and lightly patted his hand before he slowly started walking. “Right you are, wolf. Oxenfurt’s the closest city. Hopefully we’ll find your horse, that’ll make our journey to Novigrad and the Rosemary and Thyme a wee bit easier.”  
  
Eskel came up next to him, glad for the dwarf’s slow pace. “Rose-mary ‘n Thyme?” Wasn’t that a brothel?  
  
It was like a light had been lit behind the dwarf’s eyes and a large grin broke out on Zoltan’s face as he started telling him how Dandelion had ended up owning the establishment, and of the bard’s plans to redecorate the place and turn it into a cabaret and tavern.  
  
Listening closely, Eskel was glad for the distraction Zoltan’s chatter provided; it was a pleasant rhythm for him to focus on as the dwarf hovered close to him, the mother hen in action. He made sure to pay close attention to their route and, even while listening to Zoltan’s story, kept a wary ear listening out for anything that didn’t belong.  
  
A wary wolf counted for two, after all.  
  
He’d get to the bottom of this and make sure that that awful scientist could never experiment on people again.  
  
A memory flitted through his mind then. A name. It was as good a place as any to start.  
  
_Aeramas…_  
  
  
**The end **


End file.
